


#BestSkaterDoggo

by relcutantlyback (AzaWhite)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Drunk Katsuki Yuuri, M/M, Phichit Chulanont Is a Good Friend, Phichit Chulanont is a Little Shit, Social Media, Twitter, Vicchan Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:46:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21586333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzaWhite/pseuds/relcutantlyback
Summary: In which Yuuri gets drunk, calls Vicchan the best doggo, accidentally starts a viral Twitter war, and somewhere along the way also manages to catch the attention of Victor Nikiforov?."It starts, one night, with Phichit and Yuuri drunk off their asses. Well, Yuuri is drunk. Phichit is slightly buzzed but still sober enough to know that recording the video, let alone posting it, is a bad idea. He does both anyway.[video description: Yuuri is laying face-up on the hardwood floor of their shared apartment. He’s staring at the ceiling, blissfully unaware of Phichit filming. He sighs, a dreamy look on his face. Two hamsters are laying on his stomach, while a third chews inquisitively at his shirt collar. Yuuri absentmindedly pulls it away.'We don’t deserve dogs.' He sits up abruptly, and the camera jolts as it struggles to keep his whole face in frame. The hamsters squeak indignantly and scrabble out of view. Yuuri peers blindly past the camera; he’s not wearing glasses. 'Did you hear me, Phi? We don’t deserve dogs.'"
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Phichit Chulanont & Katsuki Yuuri
Comments: 57
Kudos: 962
Collections: BaconExchange2019





	#BestSkaterDoggo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jumpforjo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jumpforjo/gifts).



> I'm really happy to post my piece for the Bacon Exchange hosted by Kazul9. Many thanks to dreamerfreak for beta-reading and pointing out my mistakes.
> 
> I hope you enjoy, Jo!

It starts, one night, with Phichit and Yuuri drunk off their asses. Well, Yuuri is drunk. Phichit is slightly buzzed but still sober enough to know that recording the video, let alone posting it, is a bad idea. He does both anyway.

[video description: Yuuri is laying face-up on the hardwood floor of their shared apartment. He’s staring at the ceiling, blissfully unaware of Phichit filming. He sighs, a dreamy look on his face. Two hamsters are laying on his stomach, while a third chews inquisitively at his shirt collar. Yuuri absentmindedly pulls it away.

“We don’t deserve dogs.” He sits up abruptly, and the camera jolts as it struggles to keep his whole face in frame. The hamsters squeak indignantly and scrabble out of view. Yuuri peers blindly past the camera; he’s not wearing glasses. “Did you hear me, Phi? We don’t deserve dogs.”

A giggle. Yuuri frowns. “We don’t! Dogs are…” he trails off, clearly searching for the right word. “…exquisite! Dogs are exquisite!” He slurs the adjective a little, but it’s still clearly what he means. “They’re—they’re—they’re perfect, Phi!”

He stumbles to his feet and scrambles in his bed’s covers to find something. The camera briefly pans around the walls, which are covered in limited-edition Victor Nikiforov posters. It returns to Yuuri, triumphantly holding his phone at the person behind the camera. There’s a picture of a small brown blur on the screen. He shoves the picture at the camera.

“See! That’s my Vicchan! He’s perfect! Exquisite! Ado-ador-adorable!” Yuuri excitedly swipes through photos. More pictures of the mini poodle are gushed over, Yuuri blabbering enthusiastically about the circumstances of each picture.

“And—and that’s Vicchan with okaasan! And Mari-neechan!” Yuuri turns the phone to his face and then presses it to his chest. He sighs happily. “Vicchan is the cutest, most bestest dog in the whole wide world!”

The voice behind the camera slurs a little as it asks “What about Makkachin? Y’know, Victor’s dog?”

Yuuri frowns defensively. “I know who Makkachin is! She’s Victor Nikiforov’s dog! She’s a good girl. Best girl. But Vicchan is the best boi. Best doggo.” There is no ignoring the slight awe that enters his voice as he says ‘Victor Nikiforov.’

The skater stumbles back into his bed. “Vicchan….” Longing enters his voice. He closes his eyes and promptly falls asleep, still clutching his phone.

The camera view suddenly switches to an uncomfortable close-up of Phichit’s face. “You hear that, Nikforov? Vicchan is best boi. Best doggo.” He cackles slightly, and the video abruptly ends.]

**_DRUNK YUURI IS BEST YUURI: EXHIBIT A_ **

phichit+chu ✓

2,132,023 views

The next morning, Yuuri wakes in his bed, still fully dressed, with a major hangover and at least six hundred SNS notifications. His first thought is: what did Phichit _do_? He tentatively taps YouTube, where he has a small following, even though it’s always Celestino or Phichit uploading his practice videos. Number one on trending is—oh. Oh.

Yuuri doesn’t notice the sharp yelp he’s let out until Phichit lets out a groan and rolls over in his bed. “Why are you shrieking, Yuuri?”

“Why. Am. I. Trending. Phichit.”

Phichit sits up, headache and tiredness forgotten. He scrambles for his phone, which naturally isn’t far. He flicks through a couple screens. “Oh. Um. About that…”

He knows he shouldn’t. Yuuri presses play. The longer the video plays, the more Yuuri can’t breathe. He forces himself to take a very deep breath. He opens Twitter, which has the highest number of notifications. Oh. Oh no.

Victor Nikiforov has liked Phichit’s drunk Tweet reading:

**phichut+chu** : I love drunk Yuuri. **@v-nikiforov** I think you should see this. Shhh tho, he’s sleeping ;)

The link to the cursed YouTube video is attached.

Victor Nikiforov has also quote-tweeted the message.

**v-nikiforov** : ohmygosh Vicchan’s so cute!!!!! Although I wouldn’t call him best doggo. Clearly best doggo is my Makkachin!

There is a reply attached: a photo of Makka curled up on a sofa, watching the cursed video on a laptop. Her tongue just barely peeks out of her mouth. Victor has simply captioned it ‘a challenger?’

Yuuri is going to curl up into a ball and never show his face outside of this apartment ever, ever again.

Still, a morbid sense of curiosity has him tapping over to Trends, where **#BestSkaterDoggo** is trending. Underneath it, Twitter has suggested: **#TeamVicchan** and **#TeamMakkachin**.

Correction: Yuuri is going to die.

Phichit gently plucks the phone out of Yuuri’s frozen hands. “C’mon, it’ll blow over in a couple days, and then everyone will have forgotten about it.” Yuuri nods jerkily.

It’ll blow over. It has to.

It doesn’t blow over. If anything, it gets bigger. Mari, sensing a good opportunity for the onsen, takes the opportunity to post a photo of Vicchan begging for scraps. His puppy-dog eyes are still flawless, even at age ten. She captions it: ‘Betcha Makka can’t compare to this **@v-nikiforov @katsukiyuuri #BestSkaterDoggo #TeamVicchan #Yu-topiaOnsen #Hasetsu** ’

Yuuri deliberates when he gets the notification. On one hand, it’s Vicchan, his baby, his best boi. On the other hand, he really, really doesn’t want to fan the flames—Phichit has taken it upon himself to defend Vicchan’s honor against a virtual flood of adorable Makkachin pictures. Eventually his good sense wins out. He likes her tweet, adds a quick reply (thank you Mari-neechan!), retweets the original, and logs out of his official account. There. That’s it. Yuuri will not engage any more.

He engages more.

Mari’s tweet nets at least 4,000 retweets in the first twenty-four hours. Yuuri’s reply gains almost as many likes. Suddenly a lot of pictures of Vicchan are all over the internet. Yuuri gets mentioned or tagged in every photo. It’s not like he can ignore them, so he does his best to at least like every photo of his precious pup.

Otherwise, Yuuri does his best to ignore the debate. Victor decidedly does not, spamming his adoring followers with retweets and replies of both Makkachin and Vicchan tweets. Yuuri knows this because he follows Victor on both his official handle and his fanboy handle. Fortunately, it eventually peters down to only a couple notifications a day. At least, until Yuri Plisetsky sends a simple, twelve-character tweet:

**@yuri-plisetsky** : **#TeamVicchan**.

Yuuri’s skating when this happens. When he finally glides to the barrier to take a drink, his phone’s screen lights up, cheerily declaring he has 200+ notifications from Twitter.

“Phichit!” he hollers, startling his friend out of an intense discussion with Celestino. “What did you do now?”

Phichit raises his hands innocently. “I swear, I didn’t post anything since the last time you checked your phone.”

Yuuri narrows his eyes but accepts the excuse. He types in his passcode. Twitter loads slowly—Celestino had cranked down the rink’s internet in a futile attempt to rein in Phichit. He taps the notification icon. He stares. He’s gained twenty followers—all with handles like **‘@Yura_ANGEL113** ’ and ‘ **@ANGELS8RYURA’** and icons of Yuri Plisetsky badly edited to be wearing kitten-ear headbands. He also has forty-six mentions, an assortment of retweets, and an oodle of likes.

Okay. Yuuri can deal with this. There must be some misunderstanding. They have similar names, after all. He searches for Plisetsky’s handle to copy into a tweet directing his new followers to the correct Yuri. The top tweet sends Yuuri’s hand clasping at his chest. Oh. Oh boy. That’s…that’s something.

The faint scraping sound of Phichit skating over startles Yuuri out of his reverie. He shoves his phone in his friend’s face. “What.”

Phichit giggles nervously as he lowers the phone. “I guess you’ve got a fan, Yuuri! Aww, and such a cute little punk too!” His grin fades, just a little. “Hey, are those fans of his being weird?”

“…weird?” Yuuri frowns slightly. He taps back to his notifications. He’s been mentioned again. “Oh.” Someone with an uncomfortably graphic handle has found a picture of Yuuri, age thirteen, with acne and a distinct pudge. ‘lol,’ reads the tweet. ‘guess **@katsukiyuuri** lets himself go on the offseason. Loser.’

Yuuri can’t help it. He scrolls through his mentions. A few are sweet—‘aww I’m so glad **@yuri-plisetsky** basically admitted he admires **@katsukiyuuri** ’—but most of them range from mean to downright cruel. Worse, some of them are true.

Phichit peers over Yuuri’s shoulder and snags the phone out of his shaking hands. “Nuh-uh. Nope. You’re not looking at that for a while.” He throws an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders. “C’mon. Run me through some figures.”

He absentmindedly nods and lets himself be pulled toward the center of the rink. Yuuri can reschedule his panic attack for later in the evening. He mentally runs down the contents of their fridge and freezer. He’ll have to stop by Walmart to buy ice-cream and chocolate anyway. Celestino glances at them in concern and Yuuri barely manages not to flinch in guilt.

When Yuuri finally wrestles his phone out of Phichit’s custody, several days have passed. First, he checks to make sure Phichit didn’t post anything without his consent. Phichit is a good friend, and Yuuri loves him, but Phichit is also a little shit and cannot be trusted with SNS. He breathes a sigh of relief when he discovers no new tweets or likes on his profile. He does, however, have an absurdly high number of DMs.

Yuuri had long since set his DM settings to only allow people he follows message him. One unsolicited nude had been enough, thanks very much. Usually Phichit was the only one to message him—they both had shoddy texting plans and bummed off any unsecured wifi, which meant it was cheaper to DM than text.

And if Phichit had his phone…who would message Yuuri? He doesn’t follow that many people—aside from the majority of the official skating community, he only follows his sister, the onsen and Ice Castle, and a couple fan groups. He taps the envelope icon at the bottom right of his screen. He stares.

Because the most recent message is from **@v-nikiforov**. As in, Victor Nikiforov, four-time GPF and Worlds gold medalist. As in Yuuri’s longtime idol. Yuuri stares at the screen in disbelief. His phone dings, and Victor’s message shuffles down one underneath **@christophe-gc**. Ah. Chris. Chris is safe.

Chris’s newest message reads: Yuuri? Are you okay? You haven’t answered anybody’s messages.

The three messages before are just a string of pictures and videos of Chris’s cat, Smokes, being an absolute gremlin. Preceding the first one (Smokes looking the camera head-on before knocking over—is that a tube of lube? CHRIS) is the first message.

**@christophe-gc** : Just between the two of us, little Yuri Plisetsky has the right of this Makkachin versus Vicchan thing. Man, though, his fangirls are vicious. Here, have I shown you pictures of Smokes lately?

Yuuri types out a noncommittal reply—‘Phichit had my phone, sorry. Smokes is a cutie!’—and does similarly for the rest of his messages, pointedly ignoring Victor’s messages for last.

**@v-nikiforov** : Hello Yuuri~ I just wanted to apologize for little Yura’s fangirls

**@v-nikiforov** : teenagers are the worst, right?

**@v-nikiforov** : ………

**@v-nikiforov** : actually I’m apologizing for myself

**@v-nikiforov** : I didn’t think this whole thing would blow up so big

**@v-nikiforov** : also I really do love Vicchan!!! He’s a cute pup!

**@v-nikiforov** : was that too forward? :( :( I’m sorry

**@v-nikiforov** : Yuuri?

Yuuri blinks. Blinks again. Holy…something. He’s not sure if there are words. He taps the text box and watches as it enlarges to accommodate his response. He clearly can’t just ignore Victor, but he also has no idea what to say. And there’s no way in hell he’s going to tell anyone. Phichit is a horrible enabler, and Yuuri just knows he’ll end up confessing way too much if he talks to his roommate.

He debates for an embarrassingly long time before typing out a simple reply.

**@katsukiyuuri** : ah, it’s not your fault! and I’m sure Vicchan loves you too he’s a good boi

Before he can chicken out, he presses send and promptly flings his phone into the nearest soft surface. The woosh of the message being delivered is muffled from behind the single throw pillow on their threadbare couch. Yuuri lets out a little yelp. He stares at the small dark space that his phone is currently occupying. An eternity passes until Yuuri finally works up the nerve to stick a hand in the crevice. He fishes for the device and when his fingers brush against cool glass, Yuuri grips tight. It’s late in St. Petersburg anyway; Victor’s probably asleep. Yuuri doesn’t have to worry about a response until he wakes up in the morning.

His phone lets out a chirp.

Oh god. That’s the sound of a Twitter notification. Yuuri blindly inputs his passcode and peers hesitantly at the screen.

**@v-nikiforov** : <3 tell Vicchan thank you!

**@katsukiyuuri** : I will next time I call home

There. That’s safe, right? Discussing dogs is fine. It’s better than fine. He’s discussing the most perfect creatures known to man with the most perfect man.

**@v-nikiforov** : thank you

**@v-nikiforov** : …do you happen to have any more recent pictures of him?

**@katsukiyuuri** : I could get my sister to send you some? he lives back home in Japan

**@v-nikiforov** : oh

**@v-nikiforov** : do you see him often?

Yuuri’s heart clenches and he sucks in a breath through his teeth. He exhales. He taps the message bar and lets the cursor blink.

**@katsukiyuuri** : no

Bubbles indicating Victor is typing pop up on the screen. Yuuri holds his breath as they disappear but no message arrives. Anxiety and guilt pool in his stomach and flood his lungs.

**@katsukiyuuri** : I haven’t been home in nearly five years

Why? Why is he still typing? Why is Yuuri defending himself? Why did he admit to not seeing Vicchan?

**@katsukiyuuri** : flights are expensive and my apartment doesn’t allow pets

**@katsukiyuuri** : the landlady turns a blind eye to the hamsters

**@katsukiyuuri** : but a dog is harder to hide

**@v-nikiforov** : you must miss him

Yuuri’s fingers stop flying over the keyboard. Of course, he misses Vicchan. It’s a keen sense of loss every time he sees a dog happy with its human. He debates for a while, then decides the simple truth is easiest.

**@katsukiyuuri** : very much

A couple weeks pass, and Victor relentlessly sends adorable pictures and videos of Makkachin with alarming frequency. Yuuri has never been known to deny a dog its proper love, and despite his anxiety, manages to respond in increasing amounts of cooing. He also somehow scrapes into the GPF, and Victor sends a string of brightly colored emoji and a long thread of Makkachin videos. After that, the conversation flows easily.

**@v-nikiforov** : somebody spotted a squirrel today!

**@v-nikiforov** : [image description: Makkachin standing poised and alert in a snow-covered park, nose up in the air, tail mid-wag.]

**@katsukiyuuri** : aww she’s a goob gorl

Yuuri hesitates only a second before saving the photo. By now he has an entire album full of candid Makka photos, hardly any of which are posted online. It nearly rivals his Vicchan folder—nearly. Mari begrudgingly humors him with candids and the occasional staged photoshoot.

**@v-nikiforov** : best gorl

**@v-nikiforov** : how was your day?

**@katsukiyuuri** : I saw a pupper today on my way to the rink!

**@katsukiyuuri** : [image description: a small-ish elkhound, tongue lolling out, nuzzling against a gloved hand, presumably Yuuri’s from the angle.]

**@katsukiyuuri** : I love she

**@katsukiyuuri** : also phichit somehow made a maze for the hamsters ALL OVER THE LIVING ROOM

**@katsukiyuuri** : I nearly squished one when I woke up for breakfast

**@katsukiyuuri** : one of these days the landlady’s gonna stop for a surprise inspection and a hamster’s gonna get loose

**@v-nikiforov** : baby! and oh no, don’t lose the hamsters

**@v-nikiforov** : also what’s your flight number to Sochi? I’m bringing Makka and I was hoping to introduce you?

Yuuri is only peripherally aware of his jaw dropping. Most of his attention is focusing on breathing. He’s barely talked to Victor. Okay, so he’s messaged him a bit, but still. Yuuri’s not sure where exactly planning to meet someone’s dog falls on the friendship (is that what this is?) scale, but it has to rank well above their current situation.

He taps the message bar and lets the keyboard expand. His cursor blinks slowly, and he steadies his breathing to it. In-two-three-four, out-two-three-four. He starts typing, quietly mumbling his message as he picks each letter with care. “Are you sure?” sounds too hesitant, but he can’t just blurt out his flight number. He deletes several messages before settling on one.

**@katsukiyuuri:** I’d love to meet Makka!

Victor responds quickly.

**@v-nikiforov:** !!! <3

**@v-nikiforov:** amazing!

**@v-nikiforov:** so what’s your flight number?

Yuuri sends a screenshot of his flight confirmation email. They exchange a few more messages before Victor has to leave for practice. Yuuri grins past the dim light of his phone’s screen. He’s going to meet Victor Nikiforov! And Makkachin! He scrolls through their messages to double-check. Yep, there’s Victor’s invitation, there’s Yuuri’s response, there’s Victor’s heart—wait. Yuuri blinks.

It’s still there. Three exclamation marks and a heart emoticon. And what’s more, in response to something Yuuri said. Not a picture of a dog or a litter of puppies, not a video of Vicchan’s happiest yips. Victor had sent a heart emoticon in response to Yuuri wanting to meet Makka. Yuuri’s heart does a quad flip. Of course, Victor doesn’t mean anything by it, but Yuuri can’t help feeling a little like he’s just gotten out of a tricky spin.

“Why are you squealing, Yuuri?” Phichit’s voice carries in the dark, making Yuuri start.

“Oh. Was I? Squealing, I mean.” Yuuri is very grateful it’s dark in their shared room. He’s pretty sure his face is an impressive shade of red.

Phichit flicks on his lamp and rolls to face Yuuri’s bed. “I mean, unless you think a high-pitched whining sound doesn’t count as squealing.” He squints. “Hang on, are you blushing?”

“Ah. Um. Well—”

“Does this have to do with your secret texting friend?” Phichit waggles his eyebrows. “Did they send you a nude?”

Yuuri really hates Phichit right now. “No! Oh my gosh, Phichit why?”

“I think you denied that too quickly. Are you sure it’s not a nude? What about a raunchy text?”

Yuuri sighs. “Yes, I’m sure. It’s not a nude, god.” And now he’s thinking of that one cologne ad Victor did dressed as a very skimpy Greek god. Fuck.

Phichit narrows his eyes. “Hmm. I’m going to say I believe you.” He switches off the lamp. “But I don’t.”

Great. This is just great.

Yuuri has been on a plane or in an airport for over twenty-four hours now. He stinks of other people’s cologne, deodorant, and sweat. At this point, Celestino is dragging at least eighty percent of Yuuri’s body weight through Customs. Finally, the agent calls them forward. Yuuri musters enough strength to grab his passport from Celestino and flip it open to the correct page. The agent flicks through it, scans and stamps it, and passes it back without a single change in expression. Yuuri dutifully waits for Celestino to finish, and then they trudge onward. Well, Yuuri trudges. Celestino still has enough energy to point out all the different sights.

“—and here’s our stop!” Celestino puts an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders. “See?”

This part of the airport looks no different from the rest. Yuuri rubs the last of the sleep out of his eyes. “Um.”

Celestino grins. “Look closer!”

“Okay…” Yuuri blinks again. Squints his eyes. Celestino sighs and turns Yuuri’s head a little to the left and points.

There’s a small cluster of people holding white signs with Cyrillic and occasionally English words on them. Has Celestino finally cracked? Yuuri thinks a little about Victor’s promise to introduce Makka. He shakes his head. They’ll probably meet at the hotel. Victor probably just wanted to know when Yuuri might get in.

His phone buzzes. Yuuri glances down at the screen in reflex. Mari? He opens the text.

**Mari-neesan:** Look up, silly.

Huh? Yuuri glances up again, and this time catches a glimpse of kanji. He blinks again, taking a hesitant step forward. It’s still there. Yuuri starts walking quicker. He quietly offers apologies to the people he steps around. He can read the sign in full now: “Good Luck, Yuuri!” Underneath is a squiggle that looks a lot like a poodle. There’s also a set of pawprints next to the doodle. Vicchan’s pawprints. Mari holds the sign with one hand, a sly grin on her face.

Yuuri’s heart catches in his throat. Why…how is she here? He hurries forward, but a small sound has him stopping dead in his tracks. It’s a yip. Vicchan’s yip.

He slowly looks down to Mari’s feet. Straining on his leash, red collar shining brightly against his fur, is Vicchan. Yuuri’s baby. Yuuri runs the rest of the way. He falls to his knees and doesn’t even regret the protest they offer in response. He cards his hands through Vicchan’s perfect curls. Nuzzles against Vicchan’s face, pressing kisses to the top of his head.

They stay like that a while, just the two of them, licking and laughing and yipping. Mari sets down the sign and smiles softly. “He missed you, Yuuri.”

Yuuri doesn’t even look up. “I missed him too.” A thought strikes and he glances up. “Wait. How are you here?”

Mari’s smile turns sharp. “Your boyfriend had a lot to do with that.”

“I don’t have…” Yuuri trails off. “No. Way.”

She grins fiercely. “Yes way.”

Yuuri whirls around, still clutching Vicchan. A brown blur barrels into him. Vicchan barks inquisitively. Yuuri rebalances himself and readjusts his glasses. Oh.

Makkachin is panting heavily, a grin on her canine face. Yuuri spares a hand to scratch her behind the ears, and she offers him a long lick in appreciation. He laughs a little and puts Vicchan on the ground to meet his new friend. They sniff at each other briefly before letting out twin barks and starting to dance around each other.

Yuuri looks at them fondly for a moment before realizing if Makka is here, then…

“Surprise!” Yuuri starts at the voice and looks up. Victor Nikiforov towers over Yuuri, looking like he’s just stepped off a runway. Yuuri scrambles to his feet.

“Oh, wow, um, thank you so much!” He bows deeply.

Victor lets out a chuckle. “How could I let you go to the Grand Prix Final without seeing your puppy? Vicchan missed you too, obviously.” He winks. “Anything for such a cutie.”

Yuuri smiles, suddenly at ease. “Yeah, Vicchan’s real cute.”

Victor blinks. “I meant you.”

Oh. Yuuri is only vaguely aware of Mari’s snicker. He lets out a string of garbled English and Japanese. Mari’s snicker gets louder.

Victor laughs and pulls out his phone. “What do you say?” He kneels down and pulls Makka next to him. “A commemorative photo with the pups?”

Yuuri forces himself to breath and smiles widely, scooping Vicchan into his arms. “Yeah. Of course.”

[image description: Victor Nikiforov hugging Makkachin with one arm. The other is slung around Katsuki Yuuri’s shoulders. Yuuri is holding Vicchan with both arms. They’re both smiling widely—Victor’s is shaped like a heart. They’re kneeling on a tile floor—an airport, most likely, judging by the legs and luggage in the background. The dogs are giving canine grins to the camera.]

**v-nikiforov:** #tbt to when I met my darling, lovely, amazing husband <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave kudos and/or a comment if you enjoyed!


End file.
